Swift Bullet
by ArcheryGirl1101
Summary: After an unsuccessful chase around London John is left severely injured.
1. Swift Bullet

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I DON'T BBC SHERLOCK, ALL RIGHT GO TO RESPECTIVED CREATIVE WRITERS AND AUTHORS.

PLEASE R&R. THIS IS NOT BEEN BETA READ - ALL MISTAKES ARE MY OWN.

 **Swift Bullet**

Sherlock knelt down clutching to the dying man in his arms, the man he loved, the solider, the doctor, the best friend - the best friend who took a bullet for him.

Blood was pouring from John's chest as struggled gasps of air husked from the dying man.

"Sher..."

"John! Don't try to talk, everything will be alright"

Gritting his teeth hard to keep his tears from dripping down his long, sharp face, forced a smile to attempt to keep his friend from going into shock.

"John, stay awake. For me, stay awake. Think about... think about Mary, you can't turn up to your own wedding dead, all that planning wasted"

The detective pleaded applying tempered pressure on to the bleeding wound, the blood was slowly spreading past John's shirt and now dampening his thick wooly jumper, rasped cough escapes John's already shaking body, his limp body jolting in the tight grip of the lanky man. The detective's phone buzzed repeatedly but never would he let go of his best friend, John's left fingers limply shake brushing Sherlock's arm, Sherlock couldn't help but grab his hand in return, counting the seconds from the attack to John plummeting to the ground - five - to Sherlock catching John and practically screaming down the details to Lestrade - fourty - to waiting for Lestrade - now brinking on the three minute mark - Sherlock was set in complete panic, he ignored everything his mind and body was telling him; _John is dying_ Sherlock nearly exploded with rage every time his mind would project those three disgusting words.

Wiping tears away with blood stained hands Sherlock cradled John in his lap, "John- John, please, keep your eyes fixed on me" Dilerious John mumbled, "No, Sherlock... don't jump" "What? John, I'm not on the roof. I'm right here, by your side, right where I should be" Sirens were approaching, "John, listen. You're going to be fine, people are going to take care of you" Sherlock found his right hand inhaling John's face, taking in several tears, "He's my- friend" John mumbled out, "John!"


	2. Floating Away

Floating Away

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I OWN NOTHING OF BBC SHERLOCK, ALL RIGHTS GO TO RESPECTED WRITERS AND CREATORS.

I HAVE TO THANK Em11003 FOR THE REVIEW FOR THE UPDATE. I WAS INSPIRED BY Sherlock221 TO WRITE THIS FIC. APOLOGIES AS I FAILED TO MENTION BEFOREHAND. PLEASE GO CHECK OUT THEIR FICS TOO.

ENJOY THIS CHAPTER - PLEASE R&R.

STILL NO BETA, ALL MISTAKES ARE MY OWN.

John's POV:

I felt the bullet impact my chest. It missed my heart. At least I had time to say goodbye.

I accepted it.

Despite having Mary in my life never did I feel the same spark and adrenaline with her as I did with my former flatmate.

The world, specifically, London would be destroyed without the one-and-only Sherlock Holmes there to solves all of the mysteries no police could ever wrap their heads around, to think and do the widely impressively unthinkable.

I can feel him holding me so tight, pressing against the wound. He is desperately trying to save me. He's telling me to think, to stay awake, but I don't want to. In his words _"My body is betraying me"_ I hear him say "Keep your eyes fixed on me" the worst day of my life returns in dredd. The fake suicide that broke me and changed my life for the worse; so much I can't remember or forced out of my memory. I vaguely recounted phoning Greg particularly drunk one night while at Sherlock's grave, it was either superbly late at night or early morning I obviously didn't care which at the time. No later than ten minutes past before Greg found me in my usual place proped up against Sherlock's grave's right edge - where I always should have stayed and never left, gun and potent liquor in hand. Long afterwards Greg told me all I murmured over and over was, "He's my friend"

My friend. The one I once failed to protect. I wasn't going to allow deja vu to strike. I was going to protect him this time. I hear myself so those words again. Sherlock is begging me to stop talking repeatedly. Is he crying? Please Sherlock... don't cry for me, I don't deserve it for how I treated you when you returned. I was so angry, so betrayed, what I should of said and felt died with him the day he jumped, striding back up and interrupting my proposal just amplified those feelings back in overdrive. It tormented me internally to have to watch Sherlock help organise my wedding, rehersals, music... everything. He told me to think about the wedding, all the time and energy wasted if I died tonight. Sherlock was insistant on me staying at home tonight, no way in Hell was I leaving him out of my sight! If I could help nothing was going to stop me. I had small premonition about having to ditch my wedding in order to aid Sherlock with a case. It made me laugh too much for it not to be suspicious. Sherlock never asked. I wish he did.

What is this? This feeling? I'm not touching the ground or at least I can't feel myself touching the ground. Am I unconscious? Is Sherlock alright? Where am I going? I see a tiny pinicle of light ahead of me. The Doctor side of me says "Run" but the Adrenaline Junkie side says "Go and find out more" I can't decide. I feel myself or rather my soul floating, I want to laugh, I'm floating away from Sherlock while he is desperately clinging me to the ground. A digusting role reversal I placed myself in. Maybe Sherlock will see it, if he does he may hate me for it if I don't pull through.

This wasn't intentional. I would gladly shield Sherlock from anyone and anything because we both need each other. "Stop thinking about nonsence and focus on waking up" I tell myself. I know my eyes are shut. I know it's dark and cold. I know Lestrade is on his way. "Focus" I bark in my military tone "Open your eyes solider. That is an order" I coaxed my spirit body into the position my body is currently lying now. "I said Focus!" The yell at myself. "Wake up Watson. No way you are letting me down today. Too much at risk. So much to say in so little time. You will tell him when you pull through 'If' is not an answer cadet. You will follow my instructions" I close my eyes tight willing my body to cooperate, I sink ever so slightly. "Focus!" My hands clench, my fingernails could draw blood from my palms at this point. I sink again. I force my heart to beat once more, I waver in movement but still, down I go.

The sodden jacket is what I feel first. Inky hair blends into the night sky. I'm here. I'm back. Sherlock is still holding me. I swore I heard him yelling my name as I drifted. Now I know it's true. "Focus. Open. Your. Eyes" I do. It's slow, agonising and strange. My eyes are open slightly. I need Sherlock's attention, "Lungs?" I suggest to myself, "Wheeze? Cough? Spit blood?" I can't decide. I go for option one. I blink, feeling Sherlock's warm hand against my cooling cheek, furrowing my brow and prey my lungs to work, thank god Sherlock is close as he hears my pathetic attempt of a noise. Never had I seen such relief on one man. "John. Stay awake! Please. An ambulance is right here. Don't worry" I don't. I don't because Sherlock is here, right next to me, an ambulance can fix me and I can return home to Sherlock, for now. I am more than happy to wait for a wedding.

"Sher-lock" I breath carefully as he continues to smile at me. A drop of water flicks my cheek. I'm back. I am Captain John H. Watson, I'm not going anywhere and I don't plan to either. Not for a long time. Especially when Sherlock's counting on me.


End file.
